Page 52 of The Mage and His Stolen Prince
I stood in the middle of my bedroom, waiting for something to happen. It took several long minutes for me to realize that I was waiting for the imps to fly screaming through the halls, crying about how they couldn’t find their master.
But that wouldn’t happen again, would it? We were beyond that chapter now. No more minion interviews. No putting out the same fires. I hadn’t realized how much I’d relied on everything being the same until it changed.
I poked my head out into the hallway, searching for a minion. To my surprise, a lacertian stood right beside my bedroom door. “What are you doing there?”
“Guarding,” the lacertian replied.
I waited a beat for a longer explanation, but none followed. “Why?”
The lacertian’s scaled brow furrowed. “It’s my assignment.”
“I didn’t assign you to stand there.”
They looked around and muttered, “Is this a test? This feels like a test.” The words had so many s’s they were hard to decipher in the minion’s soft, hissing tones. They straightened and recited as if from a manual, “My leader has assigned me to protect the Lord of Grimnight between the nighttime hours of eight and four. I’m not to leave my post unless one of the imps bears a signed seal with new orders.” After a second, they added, “Or for assigned breaks, but then I’m supposed to find someone to take over for me.”
I frowned. “I don’t need a guard.”
“Respectfully, my leader disagrees. You said he could assign the guards as he saw fit, as long as the lair was protected. This floor is part of the lair, so I guard it.”
I was too tired to argue with a minion over his job. I started to close the door, then poked my head out again, “Does anyone need anything?”
“No, my lord. The lair is quiet.”
That didn’t sound right. “The imps aren’tup to any mischief?”
“No, my lord.”
“No one’s threatened to storm the fortress?” I’d turned a lot of minions aways. Surely some of them had to be upset.
“No, my lord.”
I wracked my brain for another problem that might have occurred while I was gone. “There’s really nothing?”
“The lair is safe. Please focus on your evil plots.”
“Well … alright then.” I closed the door.
Then, because I wasn’t a coward, I teleported back to the suite.
Kit shouted and grabbed a decorative vase from a mantle on the wall. They’d raised it over their head, preparing to throw it at me, when they registered who I was. I tensed, waiting for them to hit me anyway, but they simply set their improvised weapon back in its place. “Wilde, you can’t keep doing that,” they scolded. “Please walk into the room like a normal human.”
I nodded curtly, even though I didn’t plan to heed their advice.
Delilah snored softly from the couch.
“So, how did it go today?” Kit asked as they moved to the kitchen. They poured a glass of water, sized me up for a moment, then poured a second one. They slid it across the small counter in a silent order for me to drink. “I tried to ask the kitten, but she fell asleep halfway through the first word.”
I accepted the glass of water and drank it greedily. I hadn’t realized how dry my throat was until the first drops touched it. When I’d drained the whole thing, I set it down, and Kit filled it up again. “Does Delilah think she’s a cat because you call her kitten, or do you call her kitten because she thinks she’s a cat?”
Kit considered the question carefully. “She is a cat, in her own way, just like I’m a man when I want to be.”
There were three barstools at the kitchen counter, a cozy little place to dine. I sat on one stool and cradled the cup in my hands. It was cool against my overheated skin. I should have probably spent the night in the lair and teleported back in the morning to save energy. “Is it a disguise, then? One that helps her stand out rather than blend in.”
Kit watched me for a long moment before asking, “Are you having a gender crisis, Wilde? Because if you are, I’m an excellent person to talk to, having gone through a few myself.”
I scowled. “I am not having a gender crisis. I’m perfectly happy as a man.”
“Except when you’re not.”
